The Day Night Fell
by asomyrcal
Summary: Chapter 5 of 5: Complete - The day he died, night fell on a darkness deeper than the abyss itself. Dark-fic, non-physical self-hurt, use of medication, angst, canonical? character death. POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR THE MANGA AND BEIGLEITER ONE-SHOT COMIC.
1. An Old Memory

**Title**: The Day Night Fell  
**Fandom**: 07-Ghost  
**Pairing(s)**: Ayanami and Yukikaze, Hyuuga and Ayanami  
**Chapter**: 1/?  
**Warning**: Character (canonical) death, use of medication, self-hurt, angst, dark-fic. Pre-post Raggs War. SPOILERS FOR EVENTS OF THE BEIGLEITER ONE-SHOT AND MANGA.

**Synopsis**: Does he remember? They call him, trying to make him recall.

**1: **

The snow muffled their footfalls, dark boots throwing up innocent puffs of ivory white as the men ran, their attention roused by falling walls and dying screams. This was a war, and no-one looked away from spilled copper-red on white, black and gold and silver littering the horizon as far as they could see.

Even the innocent white could not conceal the death that lingered under a frightened sun seeking refuge from the stark reminder of humanity's mortality.

They were there, amongst ordinary men and women, an organization of creatures – because no-one dares to acknowledge them as humans, not with the darkness that dwells deep within them – bound together by the forbidden magic in their blood and the mutual attraction that make them gravitate towards one another, because they only had each other to turn to.

They were the reason why even the best fell under merciless blades; deadly, magnificent Warsfeil, once persecuted and still feared for the darkness in them.

And he is there, too, a figure of ebony and gold and cruel violet eyes, at the eye of a storm named death, gleaming metal and angry red dancing at his fingertips. He doesn't hold that position yet, but there are so many rumors about the silver-haired man, a brilliant prodigy with an unrivaled mind and immense power in battle, murmurs of him being _that_ Death God given human form.

Back then, he is only a Colonel, the son of a noble stripped of rank. His name has been whispered amongst fellow cadets and superiors, the former looking upon him with disdain; it is his heritage that they laugh at, but they never dared to say where he could hear – even they could feel the malicious darkness from him. The latter feared him for the brilliant mind that hid behind violet eyes and the power flowing in his veins, feared that he would one day come to hold a rank above theirs.

The man with violet eyes and silver hair, son of a disgraced noble. But he is regal, and there is pride in his step, a strength that would never bow down, and he is the one in the lead, the young commander of the feared Black Hawks.

* * *

Ayanami had been sitting there for a few hours, eyes studying the terrain map laid out before him. In his mind, several different strategies played themselves out, but none of them was what he had been searching for. The fading amber sun had long since retreated behind the ominous snow-crowned peak that stood between them and the castle palace, and heavy mist had settled over the barely bustling camp.

There was always something lacking, something that he had missed out in the digital projection of white and brown and moving black dots.

Violet eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the map as if the barely physical image would tell him that crucial detail he knew he had missed. That detail was the reason why the troops before them had been stalled over and over again, and Ayanami knew it was more than just the snow that held them at bay.

The upper echelons of the military had ordered the small platoon of Warsfeil to the Raggs kingdom three days ago, with explicit orders to accomplish what their ground and air troops could not. Ayanami had shown no emotion when the order arrived, even though there was a nagging thought at the back of his head that the entire issue was because, once again – it always happens this way, and he has long since gotten used to it – someone with a grudge against him, some pathetic fellow-cadet – how he loathed to call them that, they could barely even stand against that brute in their exams and screamed like lowly worms – with connections and an utmost dislike against him.

The hate that fell against his shoulders were weights that couldn't bind him down.

Slender fingers had just picked up a pen when a knock at the door stalled his actions. He didn't have to look up to know who it was, eyes still studying the map display.

"Ayanami-sama."

If Ayanami was frigid ice given the form of a man, then this man would be life and fire condensed into humanity. Yukikaze stepped in, carrying with him what looked like a thermos and a mug, but the violet-eyed man was too fixated on the unsubstantial map before him to have paid attention to what his Beigleiter was holding. The smile on Yukikaze's face widened slightly at the sight of his workaholic superior glaring almost angrily at the map that refused to yield answers, gently laying an arm on his shoulder.

Violet turned to meet ebony black, and the quiet frustration that had plagued him seemed to dissolve away just a little. The past three days in the snow-cloaked land had been wearing down the normal soldiers, Raggs certainly had proven to be an adversary that required a slightly stronger hand. Even the rag-tag Warsfeil – there were only a handful of them then – had felt the pressure that lurked around them, the oppressive looks and expectations from the humans which made up the camp.

"Send platoons two and six to the north-west gate. I want the men there readied for a charge the minute that shield is down. Platoons three and five will provide support. Platoon one is to remain under my command." Ayanami hadn't touched the single thermos that his Beigleiter had set down on the desk before him, pen flying over an empty white surface to draft out that elusive strategy he had finally caught at the edge of his mind. Beside him, endless ebony merely followed the elegant words that had materialized on the paper, mentally committing each and every word to memory.

Moments passed in silence that way, until the soft click of boots interrupted Yukikaze's quiet reverie.

"Aya-tan's still working?"

Ayanami did not look up; he had heard the familiar footsteps as Hyuuga approached, but Yukikaze did, greeting the sunglasses-wearing Captain at the doorway with a polite smile. He had long since gotten used to the sudden, almost random visits that only one man would bother with at odd hours of the day, but he had could never understand how his silver-haired superior managed to put up with a subordinate who never seemed to give him any respect with that strange nickname and sunglasses that seemed eternally perched on his face.

No-one knew why the man always chose to wear those dark glasses that shielded his eyes, but no-one had dared to question; no-one ever did, Hyuuga was, first off, one of them, and secondly, he was one of the men in _his_ unit.

Even Yukikaze had not asked Ayanami about the other dark-haired man that was clearly a presence in his life.

"What is it now, Hyuuga?"

Finally, the pen was set down and violet gazed up to meet shielded crimson – he knew those were the colors masked by tinted black, he had seen them before when they had still been young and somewhat carefree – a question painted clear in pale lavender, words that did not need to be said, questions that did not need to be asked.

Behind him, Yukikaze had retrieved the report from Ayanami's desk, all too aware of the sudden tension in the small room. It was almost as if watching two predators facing down, and without thinking, his hand wandered to where that cold blade hung, coming to a rest there before Yukikaze realized. He could have sworn the corner of the Captain's lips had curled into a smirk, but in the blink of an eye it had disappeared, leaving the bespectacled man to wonder if it had merely been his imagination.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all." Now that smirk was back, and it made Yukikaze's dark eyes narrow just the slightest.

"Then why-" To his surprise, Yukikaze found himself cut off by a gloved hand and a gaze that seemed as calm as the sea before the storm. If it was what Ayanami willed, then he would obey, but he did not have to be happy about it. And he certainly wasn't, dark eyes glaring at the dark-haired Captain still standing there with that smug smirk on his face.

The silent face off that would inevitably happen every time the two of them crossed paths was broken by a slight movement in the room; Ayanami had risen to his feet, violet eyes glaring momentarily at his two bristling subordinates, a silent warning that didn't need words to be expressed.

"Inform the men that we depart at oh-six-hundred hours tomorrow. Hand the report to the General first thing tomorrow morning."

Ayanami did not waste time; once on his feet, he strode towards the exit, trusting that his Beigleiter would follow without a word, and Hyuuga stepped back just a little. His sunglasses slid down a little on his nose, exposing shadowed crimson, watching his superior calculatingly.

"So early, Aya-tan?"

His voice held nothing of the slyness that lurked in his eyes, sounding almost playful and teasing. A quick glance at the Beigleiter standing and bristling silently behind Ayanami made him want to grin, but calm violet had come to rest on him, and all Hyuuga would allow himself to do right now was a cheeky grin as his superior strode past him almost uncaringly.

"Must you always question his decisions?" It was Yukikaze who had spoken, an undercurrent of anger and frustration lurking in that seemingly calm voice. The hand unburdened by the file of paperwork had curled into a fist out of sight from the swordsman, his annoyance obvious to the silver-haired man who had merely turned to observe the sudden outburst.

"Yukikaze. That's enough." In the silence that had followed his Beigleiter's somewhat harsh words, Ayanami's voice cut through the angry fog that had momentarily blinded the younger man. His eyes directed a cool gaze at Hyuuga, a silent warning, and it would be the only answer the crimson-eyed swordsman would get from Ayanami, that threatening half-glare promising a darker fate if he continued his pointless antagonizing.

With that, the Colonel turned on his heel, striding down the now empty camp grounds towards the Black Hawks' temporary sleeping accommodations. A grin tugged at Hyuuga's lips, and, resting his hands on the back of his head, he strolled towards where the soldiers had gathered. How he hated to be the bearer of the bad news, but if it was what Aya-tan wanted, then he would do it.

Behind him, only Yukikaze turned slightly, casting a glare at the back of the now-retreating Captain, before jogging a little to catch up with Ayanami. Tomorrow's blood-red dawn would herald the day the Kingdom of Raggs fell.

* * *

They came to him, disembodied voices at the edge of his consciousness – he could hear them if he reached far enough – those bone-dry wings and taunting voices of the Wars he could control. He could even see them if he looked, but he did not care for them, those skeletal wings and nothing else. But even as the dark creatures came to the Warsfeil who manipulated them, he could tell from the quiver of fear in their whispers, there was something deeper, a darker malice, that made them obey his commands.

They had always whispered where only he could hear, _master, what is thy command_, fearful but gentle prods at his mind, never daring to intrude. Ayanami had learned soon after that the tremble in their wordless voices had been fear – those creatures could be terrified – he soon knew, they did not want to be destroyed.

Violet eyes opened, staring out at a snow-blanketed land, the dull echo of the Wars' whispers still ringing in his head – _master, remember_ – entirely unsure of what those voices were trying to make him recall. Twenty-four years and he had always heard those murmurs, and twenty-four years he did not fully comprehend them. There was something deep within his own darkness that had stirred in response to them, but that had always been at the tip of his fingers, never able to grasp it.

Dimly, he felt a gentle weight on his arm, an anchor to reality tugging insistently at him, something that demanded his attention. He forced himself to focus on that, following instinctively until he saw dark hair and concerned eyes.

Apparently his mind had drifted, and the distraction was something Ayanami absolutely refused to allow himself to have. He would never drop his guard, not on the battlefield, it was too dangerous for him to do that. There were people – and people were the most dangerous of all predators – who would no sooner stab him in the back just to prove that they had the ability to dispose of him and those like him. A quick glance around placed him back on the oh-too-familiar landscape, black and silver lined neatly like toy soldiers on an ivory chessboard, and the lingering silhouettes of both his Beigleiter and fellow Black Hawk.

"Ayanami-sama, the General has issued the order for the troops to move out. He..."

It was the pause in his Beigleiter's voice that made the silver-haired man turn around to face Yukikaze, and as he did, caught sight of familiar dark glasses and crimson eyes, a silhouette that had emerged from the shadows merely seconds ago. The guarded look Hyuuga held made violet eyes narrow, there was something in his subordinate's look that spoke a thousand words to him before the man even said anything.

"The General's decided not to follow Aya-tan's strategy."

The swordsman cut in before Yukikaze could say anything, and for that earned a glare from the normally smiling man. A hint of a smirk curled at Hyuuga's lips, but this was no time to play smug with his superior's Beigleiter. His body was relaxed, but the eyes hidden behind the dark glasses watched Ayanami intently. The man standing there certainly held his emotions well, there was not a single shred of emotion on his face. Even those violet eyes gave absolutely nothing away, and for a moment, Hyuuga wondered idly, was there nothing that could agitate the calm mask Ayanami had on?

Then it hit with the force of a storm, the sudden outburst of darkness that swelled around him like an unstoppable wave; even the soldiers who held no black magic in their blood could sense it, the restless swirl that threatened to envelope them. It was a twisting feeling that both Yukikaze and Hyuuga could feel, the angered Colonel pacing before them, gloved hands clenched into tight fists.

It was common knowledge that the General spearheading the campaign against the Raggs Kingdom had an open dislike of Warsfeil. The disdain in his voice had been barely veiled, threats half-hidden in sharp words, and the man had made it an open point of ignoring the two dark-haired men who were constants beside the Empire-sent genius strategist.

"Ayanami-sama!" It was worry that tinged Yukikaze's voice, dark eyes widening at his superior's sudden outburst. It was rare for the man to even show anything beside the cool exterior he had always allowed others to see. Even Hyuuga started, taking a step forward, crimson eyes filled with concern, hooded from sight only by the darkness of the morning and the black-tinted glasses he wore.

"That man is a fool!" Anger tinged the voice that had lowered to a hiss. "Does he not realize what he is trying to do will destroy the troops and cripple the Empire?"

For all the power flowing where the eye could not see, his loyalty to the Barsburg Empire was entirely unquestionable. And this single General, a man who thought himself to be above monsters – they knew what they were called – had sealed his fate the very moment his actions threatened the empire Ayanami served.

The dark cloud that had started to gather in the sky looked horribly ominous, a foreboding mirror of Ayanami's destructive mood. His face had settled into an impassive mask, but there was a fire that burned in those cold violet eyes of his. Instinctively, Hyuuga and Yukikaze both reached for their weapons – they did not need words to know, for they too held the same kind of dark magic that their superior did – following the Colonel as he strode from his position. There was a malice in Ayanami's eyes, anger and the promise of death and slow torture as that lone figure made his way towards the front lines.

It was not going to be a pretty sight.

And it wasn't; watching the confrontation between the two men was almost as if watching two predators sizing each other up for a fight to the death. General Casner, so full of pomp to the point it had long since become excessive, merely sized up the leaner, silver-haired officer, entirely oblivious to the invisible swirl of anger that encircled the man, the silent storm held back by sheer willpower on his part.

But yet, the storm had calmed, it was now velvet masking cold steel, an entirely innocuous facade that hid the sharp knives waiting to tear its opponent apart.

"Explain." There was no mask for the deadly undertones in his voice. If looks could kill, Casner would have died several times over; Ayanami had fixed him with one of the glares that could make even the most battle-hardened soldier crumble under that intense lavender and violet.

"Now, now, Ayanami-kun." The suffix appended to the Colonel's name made Yukikaze's jaw tighten just the slightest, even though his silver-haired superior seemed indifferent to the lack of respect. What the Beigleiter didn't see was the smallest twitch of gloved fingers, as if something in them wished to allow angry crimson to form deadly words and remove the excuse of a human worm before him. "It's just a minor change in detail, I'm sure you won't mind, will you, Ayanami-kun?"

The utter lack of respect for Ayanami – the patronizing tone with which his name had spilled from that man's lips, the lack of courtesy to even acknowledge that he was there – made clamping down on the growl that had inevitably risen at the back of his throat almost impossible, until he felt a warmth encircle one of his clenched fists. Words etched in dull black were almost impossible to make out in the darkness of the early morning, but his eyes were trained for this.

_He isn't worth it_, words that did not need to be said given form in a language no-one else needed to understand. The warmth dissipated into the ice cold air moments later, the existence of those words merely a memory hidden behind depth-less ebony.

"Then you certainly understand the power of Mikhail's barrier." The words were cold, unaffected by the anger that simmered beneath his expressionless facade.

"Ayanami-kun, you're simply worrying too much. The barrier will not stand up against our Raphael, you know it. Besides..." The man did not respect him. He knew it as well, but for professional appearances, said nothing. Ayanami knew the words that were not said, that man would not hesitate to use his so-called authority to force him to back down.

If this cowardly excuse of a man who hid behind his rank, this so-called General – those words at the back of his mind were laced with disgust – wanted to stake his career on it, then he would allow him. Ayanami would be more than willing to present that man's head on a platter when the inquiry finally came.

"Very well." Even Yukikaze caught the General's breath of relief as Ayanami decided that wasting his effort arguing war strategies was not worth it. The man was truly a coward, hiding under the farce of rank and pompous antics. The dark-haired man turned to follow his superior as Ayanami spun on his heel, striding away from Casner.

"I want all Black Hawks on full alert. When the platoons move out, we will make our move then." It was more of protocol than actual need for which he said that. Their numbers were few and far between, and even though Casner had rank on his side, the Black Hawks only saw need to answer to the Field-Marshal himself.

Behind them, Hyuuga remained entirely unmoving, arms crossed over a broad chest, crimson eyes made unreadable by the darkened shield over them.

**1: TBC**

**A/N**: The timeline used here is pretty much made up from bits and pieces gleaned from the manga and omakes. Ayanami is 24 here, before his Chief of Staff appointment. And Casner is a fictitious made-up General, because someone has to be the generic ass that occurs every time.


	2. The Infinite Abyss

**Title**: The Day Night Fell  
**Fandom**: 07-Ghost  
**Pairing(s)**: Ayanami and Yukikaze, Hyuuga and Ayanami  
**Chapter**: 2/?  
**Warning**: Character (canonical) death, use of medication, self-hurt, angst, dark-fic. Pre-post Raggs War. SPOILERS FOR EVENTS OF THE BEIGLEITER ONE-SHOT AND MANGA.

**Synopsis**: The day he died, night fell on a darkness deeper than the abyss itself.

**2:**  
The red sun did nothing to muffle the portrait of death painted on the once unsullied land. There were moments of confusion as Raphael's light blinded everyone but those prepared for it, and it were in the minutes after where darkness swallowed away any hope the people of Raggs could have held. It was a scar that ripped apart the once-blue sky, words with the promise of absolute despair etched in crimson-tinged ebony, a sight that terrified human hearts and sent them fleeing to what they called safety. But this was war, and there was no refuge, as blood dyed cobbled streets red and merciless gold marched unrelentingly towards their goal.

All the pointless skirmishes at the gates had delayed the inevitable and taken the life of men who did not have to die for such a pointless matter. But he had watched as they fell, almost cold and indifferent, as if the lives of those pawns mattered not to him. He had watched as that pompous old fool rushed headlong into spears and gleaming metal with the scream of eternal glory to the Barsburg empire – hypocritical old man with his delusions of grandeur – never once displaying any shred of emotion.

Violet and ebony and crimson watched, before that gloved hand finally lifted, deadly blood-red blossoming into existence, the creation of that absolutely destructive power. Their goal was simple, the innocuous stone that resided with the royalty of the kingdom of Raggs, and the Box that _he _had stole.

Yet something stirred deep within him, a darker presence that seemed to gnaw at his thoughts, embedded in the very fabric of his soul.

Humans bowed to fear. And it was fear that kept them in line as the invading army made their march towards the castle, fear of the forbidden dark sorcerers who held human form and walked amongst men. The foreboding crimson words had ripped their sky, their hope and their morale apart; it had only been a matter of hours before soldiers too fearful to hold their swords right trembled and fell without the need for any brute force.

It was the same no matter where they went, this was something Yukikaze had noted with a slight sense of detachment. Perhaps this was why the King had approved of the forbidden Warsfeil, men to whom fear was their ally and darkness their blood.

In-front of him, Ayanami's form was almost rigid, determination carved into a canvas of his back. By the time the sun hung high in a smoke-cloaked sky, half-hidden behind clouds, soldiers in black and gold had barred doors and windows, rounding up frightened innocent citizens who had wanted nothing to do with the terrifying men who came pounding at doors, men with death on their hands and cruelty in their eyes.

The only untouched area was the castle of Raggs itself. When that fell, the once-proud Kingdom would entirely cease to exist. Around that proud spire, destruction lurked, skeletal fingers threatening to close in and devour the single fortress of hope with its snow-capped guardians that loomed high in the noon sun.

"The last of the resistance has been taken care of, Aya-tan." Familiar dark glasses and an almost cheerful grin came into view as Hyuuga strolled leisurely back into view of his superior, stray droplets of blood marring his face. Yukikaze's eyes merely narrowed slightly as Hyuuga reported back, but he would not allow himself to be annoyed at the swordsman's inane antics. This was war, and a misstep would mean death or worse.

"I want a report of the total losses." Casner's loss had not been mourned. It had been a reckless charge – rather unlike him, Yukikaze had commented, and the comment had only drawn a smirk from the violet-eyed man standing before him – with no care for life or duty, that dying scream that had made the smirk on Ayanami's face widen just a fraction.

"Yes sir." Hardworking as always. It made the Colonel smile just a little, where no-one saw, before he too, turned to his own duty. With the General's rather unexpected death, the mantle of being destroyer now fell to the silver-haired man.

Something in his soul reveled.

Ayanami turned his gaze back towards the frost-gripped castle. The ice that had formed a protective shield over pale silver and white ramparts made the palace look much larger than it truly was. _Intimidation_, he thought, a strategy forming within his brilliant mind. The scouts had earlier retrieved aerial information which would inevitably come into use when the time came for the castle to fall.

"Something on your mind, Aya-tan?"

The swordsman had come up besides him, a casual arm looping around his superior's shoulders, a Cheshire-cat grin on his face. Ayanami did not say anything, he merely shrugged the weight of his subordinate's arm off his shoulder, stepping forward to study aerial images taken merely moments ago. He had long since gotten used to Hyuuga's antics, having spent a few years in his youth with the strangely optimistic swordsman.

"Only your insolence, Captain Hyuuga."

There was no malice that edged his razor sharp comment – there never would be, not with the man who had stuck with him through the years at the academy – only resignation. Perhaps it was the fact that his thoughts were somewhere else, pointedly ignoring the other Black Hawk who had taken up position beside him, peering over his dark glasses at the map.

It was something about that ice-bound castle that demanded his attention, there was something about it that simply did not _feel_ right, a nagging feeling in the very depths of his soul, a warning cry of something that seemed horribly ancient buried beneath layers of human consciousness. For a moment, the images before him blurred, just for that moment, and he heard them, the creatures more insubstantial than the Wars, fragments of bone and darkness whispering to him, seeking his approval.

_Master_, they whispered,_ remember us, command us_, and the disembodied cries only made his head hurt even more. This was nothing like the voices of the Wars; this was overwhelming darkness that cried out with clawing fingers, tearing at the edge of his conscious mind.

"Ayanami-sama?"

Violet eyes snapped open – when had his eyes slid shut? Ayanami could not remember at all – meeting concerned ebony and the hint of shaded crimson behind black-tinted glasses. The sudden wave of nausea that had hit him subsided as soon as it had welled up, and for the first time he saw it clearly, the pale outline of an almost too familiar sign etched against frost and buried in ice.

It spoke to him, an almost alien familiarity beyond his time, that familiar name on the tip of his tongue yet he could not grasp it, did not remember those words that danced teasingly just out of reach.

Then, in a blink of the eye, it was gone, vanishing back into faded ivory and frosted white, but the dull throb behind violet eyes steadfastly refused to go away, lingering evidence of the clamouring murmurs that had nearly drowned him in the swell of their overzealous voices.

"Mhn."

Yukikaze shook his head at Ayanami's indifference; the only time he would make that monosyllabic grunt was when there actually were thoughts weighing on the man's mind. He had long since learned to read almost all of his superior's actions like an open book, that was the only way he would be able to assist him. There was no use sighing, instead, he held out a folder silently to Ayanami, retreating slightly when the Colonel took it and deftly flipped open the cover, violet eyes narrowing at the long list etched in ebony on white.

The losses were higher than he had expected, and there was no doubt in his mind that the Field-Marshal would request an explanation for this. The man had sent him there to curb whatever losses that fool of a General would inevitably make, and Ayanami made a note at the back of his mind that even in death, Casner would certainly be made to answer for his ridiculously foolish decision.

"Regroup the first and second platoons. I want them reorganized and battle-ready within two hours." The noon sun had dipped just a little, having drawn a blanket of clouds over itself to shield its gaze from all the death that marred the land. By nightfall, he would ensure that the castle would fall, no matter what it took. "We will move at sixteen-hundred-hours."

Hyuuga's grin widened, waving almost nonchalantly as he strolled from the tent, the dull clink of metal hidden behind carved wood a parting chime as the swordsman left to accomplish the task his superior had wordlessly placed on his shoulders. There would be blood spilled that night, and he knew it.

Left in the warm darkness of the tent, violet eyes continued their scrutiny of blinding crystal white. There was certainly something there; it made the darkness in him twist and growl like a restless predator seeking prey, and Ayanami would find it, no matter how many pawns it took.

* * *

Watching the Barsburg military in motion was a display of pure power, rippling waves of ebony and silver, the crest of the proud Empire flying high on velvet black.

Ayanami strode forward, a hand resting on the sword that hung at his side, tension pulling every single muscle in his body taut even though his expression betrayed no emotion. Around them, ships carrying battle-hardened men clothed in crisp uniforms landed, and the well-trained men wasted absolutely no time in encircling the fortress.

But the first to move was not him, nor was it the soldiers around them, instead, Hyuuga's agile black shadow separated from them, a lone figure sprinting towards looming castle doors. Ayanami's lips curled into the semblance of a smirk, those frost-encrusted carved metal would no sooner stand up to the swordsman's gleaming blade than a well-placed zaiphon cleaving through hapless tissue.

That man carried carnage in his blade and death in his eyes, he had seen those crimson orbs hidden behind the shield of darkness several times before, and Ayanami knew, those were the eyes of a predator, cruel and merciless to the very end. Ice crumbled first, glass-like tinkling mixed with the harsh screech of metal against metal, a dissonant symphony of a defense's dying scream as Hyuuga cut down the obstacle in their way.

"Move." Cold and detached as always. But those orders did not apply to the troops standing behind him, shock-gripped by the sheer power held by those cursed with the forbidden, forgotten blood of darkness. No, those men had a different kind of duty, they would never have been able to fight on the same level as the elite corps that guarded the royal house of Raggs.

Cold steel and angry red made up his world, Ayanami did not require eyes to see or skin to feel, he did not hear the dying screams around him as crimson dyed the snow at his feet. He was lethal, deadly, they all were, the embodiment of death given human form. A predator, a killer, and – the words had been whispered by everyone when he passed, the rumors and quiet murmurs, but he had never given thought to that ridiculous notion – a death god.

Behind him, Hyuuga and Yukikaze operated with graceful efficiency; for all the times they did not see eye to eye, those two men were equally deadly when it came down to their job.

It drew an almost proud smirk from the silver-haired Colonel.

A wide sweep of his sword sliced through a painfully pathetic resistance, these men who fought with only their own lives in mind, undedicated soldiers who scrambled back and pleaded for mercy when it became clear to them that victory was impossible. They disgusted him, those creatures with no regard or loyalty to the kingdom they supposedly served, and a single flick of his wrist silenced pitiable cries to spare them. He had no use for the pathetic humans who sought only power, fame and glory – Casner had inevitably been one of those – and if they failed to gain that, tried to bargain with their enemies.

Loyalty was something Ayanami respected.

"That's the last of them, Ayanami-sama." Violet eyes turned to inspect the carnage that littered the empty castle hall. Some of them had been soldiers, but some – Ayanami brutally removed his sword from a limp, lifeless body – had truly been cowards. What an assortment of colorful characters, he thought, clothed in the same identical breastplate and deep gunmetal grey, equals at last in death.

Crimson dripped from once-gleaming metal, copper threads that clung to their executioner's blade.

"Order the men to search the castle. Find it." A flick of his wrist sent a spatter of red over a floor soaked in crimson, barely acknowledging the movement as Yukikaze disappeared out of the hall into a fading sunlight. Ayanami turned a deaf ear to the clatter of boots that had rung out as his Beigleiter returned with the soldiers, men who tried to hide the tremble of fear at the sight of bloody carnage and death littering the floor of the once impenetrable stronghold.

Monsters, he knew, that was what the Black Hawks were called. But Ayanami ignored it, striding forward, shaded violet searching for that elusive pulse that had called to him, made some long-forgotten magic in him stir with an intent masked beneath ancient memories sealed away by a power he did not yet comprehend.

_It is near_, that deep abyssal cloud of darkness again, voiceless whispers and bone-dry wings at the back of his mind. There was something here that agitated them, and he could feel it in his bones.

Then he heard it, the sound of a struggle mixed with the clang of metal on metal and tinkling chime of an all too familiar piece of ornamental jewelry, and instinct dictated that it was unwise to be unarmed. Ayanami turned, a quick glance towards the flurry of ebony encircling a single, regal, ivory-encased form. A smirk curled his lips, that form was unmistakeable. Weldeschtein Krom Raggs.

So the King had decided to put up a struggle. Valiant, but futile. The soldiers had already encircled him; that man was no better than a cornered animal now, backed into an route with no escape, attempting to intimidate the greater predators that had trapped him.

Weldeschtein moved, lunging forward in a bid to escape.

Time seemed to stop, and for just those five long seconds, it seemed as if the King would actually manage the impossible of escaping from the Barsburg army.

_A dream_, the words lingered on the tip of his tongue, and it would definitely come crashing down.

Ayanami strode forward, drawing his sword fluidly. There would not be any interrogation today, no, today was merely an execution, just as the Emperor had dictated. Complete and entire annihilation, as that man had wished. The deadly sound of gleaming metal leaving the leather and iron bindings that held it echoed within empty halls as the men finally abandoned fear, bodily restraining Weldeschtein.

Even now, trapped like a fly within a spider's web, the King continued to struggle. Violet eyes studied the once-proud man almost calculatively as he was almost forced to his knees. There was something that man was trying to hide, the reason why his ornamental necklace was now devoid of the crimson stone customarily set against silver and cast gold.

"There isn't anywhere else to hide, King Raggs."

Cold, cruel, merciless.

The blade sliced through air and cloth and flesh, a look of shock momentarily passing over the King's face. Ayanami did not even flinch as blood spattered across pale skin and a once ivory floor now dyed crimson, gazing unmovingly on the now late-King's body as his form crumpled to the ground bonelessly, making a choked sound as blood spilled from the gaping wound torn across his dying figure. The soldiers that had restrained him had stepped back, disbelieving gazes fixed on the King lying in an expanding sea of crimson and white.

Then Ayanami saw it, the momentary vision of a lifetime that seemed to be both his and not his, a black, curved blade, words he did not yet understand carved on the unforgiving darkness, claws that seemed to reach for him from an endless abyss. The disembodied voices of the Wars circled, crying words he barely grasped, violet narrowing as his trained mind forced the vision down.

War was no time for distraction.

Behind them came a soft, almost child-like patter of footsteps, a clink of metal, and then there was silence.

Again it came, rearing its head, that nagging feeling that stirred at the bottom of his soul, that sensation of resonance, of something calling out to a fragment of him that did not seem to belong to him at all. _Find him_, it sounded almost like a growl, _take back what is yours, _and he felt the darkness in him hungering for that of which it sought.

His Beigleiter was a step ahead of him, having removed the obstacle in the doorway behind them with a well-placed blast of zaiphon when the sound had caught their attention.

When the dust cleared, the first thing the Colonel saw was the young child with glazed, unseeing emerald eyes, a child of the Church it would seem, by the pale white and cream robes that looked a little too large for the young boy. But there was no reason for the child to be here, clutching a piece of cold metal too big and heavy for those small fingers.

Then he saw _him_, and the world seemed to come to a standstill.

"You."

Darkness stirred restlessly, a building storm that even Yukikaze and Hyuuga could feel. It curled around Ayanami, a old, long-forgotten memory that had finally found a crack in its seal, engulfing him in the ancient whispers of something more cruel than the ebony black abyss. Then it hit him, an involuntary gasp slipping from pale lips as he remembered everything.

Skeletal fingers, death given face and form, cold tendrils of darkness amongst a shower of pale white petals. The voices that had murmured for him to remember had finally ceased, a shiver of anticipation from those formless whispers as the seal holding everything he wanted to know back finally crumbled.

"Vertrag." The name was a whisper on his lips, he now knew _why_ this place had seemed familiar to him, it was the thousand-year-old memory that had lurked locked inside him, and the shadows on the ground contorted, a glimmer of a hooded god, a creation sealed away a millenia ago. Ayanami saw no-one else, not the soldiers around them, not his Beigleiter standing with his sword gripped firmly in his hand, not even Hyuuga or the green-eyed child, only that single white-cloaked figure with its black, hooded shadow who stood before him.

A meeting that seemed almost nostalgic.

"So you remembered." And Fia Kreuz moved, liquid grace beneath flowing robes, a hand outstretched, the pale shimmer of a power unheld by humans taking shape at the tip of his fingers.

It happened too fast, a split-second of distraction.

Ayanami saw blood and fragments of gold and black, a blur of ebony and silver, eyes widening in the slightest semblance of shock as someone all too human stood between him and an impact that never came, a living shield from the Ghost's attack. _Unnecessary_, the darkness in him whispered, but Ayanami knew – he had known instinctively, as that too familiar glasses clattered to the ground, cracked and broken like their owner – he didn't have to see that man's face for confirmation.

_Not this way_, his mind screamed, the still-human part of his soul wanting to deny a truth already written in blood, but the words never made it to his lips.

Even Kreuz seemed to be gripped by shock at the turn of events, fingers trembling as he withdrew from the mortally wounded Warsfeil.

Yukikaze collapsed onto the ground, pale and blood-drenched, a gaping wound where his right arm and shoulder would have been. There was pain and pride etched in his features, a peaceful, knowing look in those dark eyes, the knowledge that he had protected the man that mattered the most to him. So _that_ was what their opponent was; the knowledge had hit him when his darkness had been all but consumed by the blinding light at Kreuz's fingertips, and the ebony-haired Beigleiter was proud that he had shielded Ayanami from that attack.

If it were for him, he could have endured anything, even this.

The Colonel's feet would not move, and even though the expressionless facade that remained impassive, it was anguish that seized him where eyes could not see. Ayanami's pride did not allow him to act rashly, but what was left of his humanity mourned for the young man now dying in a cold place, so far away from home.

Yukikaze smiled.

Even with his strength seeping away into the crimson pool around him, he smiled. His superior's icy expression did not seem to bother him, he had long since learnt to read those cold violet eyes. Yukikaze saw in those depth-less lavender, an unspoken pain that resonated wordlessly, because the Colonel standing there amidst a sea of red would never allow himself to show anything beyond the calm mask he always wore.

"Ayanami-sama..."

The sound of his voice was hoarse, pain-riddled.

Bloodied fingers lifted, summoning the last reserves of what remained of his fast-fading strength. Yukikaze was dying, he knew it, he could feel it with every slowing beat of his heart, his life spilling out and mingling with the blood of the countless men that had fallen under his blade. Equals in death, he could have laughed, but the pain now made even speaking an almost impossible task.

_As long as I am within thee_, the words materializing into existance at the tip of Yukikaze's fingers were barely holding their form together, a silent mirror of the man who had written them in ghostly threads on the only canvas he had.

Ayanami's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

The fading light in Yukikaze's eyes and the smile he still wore even as he lay dying tore at him.

_My heart will always be... _

The words etched on the ground seemed almost haphazard, barely legible.

Those fingers fell limp to the ground, the last vestiges of life slipping out of his Beigleiter's grasp. Ayanami's fingers curled into a fist, gloved digits digging painfully into fabric. Crimson had slowly started to pool in the dying man's last words, silently drowning them in an endless red.

A faint thread – it was all that remained of the last of Yukikaze's strength, stubbornly clinging to a life that had long since fled – drifted to Ayanami's fingers. His gloved fingers curled around the barely physical warmth, as if the touch could bring back the man now lying broken on the ground.

Yukikaze was gone.

The flood of suppressed emotions – they would remain locked away, he would never allow anyone to see – set something else loose. In that one moment, Ayanami remembered everything, the name that had only been whispered by everyone else, the name that belonged to him and him alone. It was a silent roar that resonated in his soul, an unheard storm as ancient memories finally returned to their rightful owner.

His identity as Verloren, the seven Ghosts that had sealed him away, Eve's death, and the trickery of the Chief of Heavens, he remembered everything. Even the promise of a dead and useless world; he remembered it all, and he would start with the single Ghost that stood before him, the one responsible for Yukikaze's death.

It was an eerie, chilly calm that had seized Ayanami, the endless darkness that seemed to emanate from him, an abyssal cloak wrapping around him, as he withdrew the sword hanging at his side. Kreuz had backed away slightly, knowing that something about the Colonel had changed, sensing the darkness that threatened to swallow anyone else who stepped too close.

Ayanami smiled, predatory and cruel, the promise of slow and painful torture in that cold gaze of his. There was an unnatural calm despite the anger that had threatened to blind him mere moments ago.

He was fluid grace and powerful lean muscle, with a blade that seemed to be an extension of his own body as it stabbed forward, the killing intent clear behind violet and silver. But Kreuz was equally fast, a scythe materializing in his hand where no-one else could see, meeting the gleaming metal head-on, stopping it mere inches from where a blow would have become fatal.

That predatory smile on Ayanami's features only widened.

_Seize him_, the screams echoed around him, anxious darkness clawing away at the back of his mind.

"Give it back." His voice had lowered to a threatening hiss, bringing his blade down against the scythe Kreuz wielded with surprising ease.

Ayanami pressed on, fueled on by an emotion that felt entirely foreign to him. By then it had gone beyond the desire for vengeance against the Ghost that had obviously taken Yukikaze's life, it was something deeper and much darker, more ancient and beyond human creation that almost craved for that which had been lost to him.

The fragment that lay within the Ghost, he wanted it back.

Faster, harder, stronger. Ayanami would seize what was his, by any means necessary.

And then opportunity presented itself the moment Barsburg soldiers made their move, surrounding not the Ghost but the young child that sat on the bloodstained ground, looking entirely the part of a lost lamb amongst creeping predators.

Kreuz turned, seeking to protect the boy sitting there without giving a thought for his own life, momentarily exposing his back to the Colonel and the cold metal in his hands.

"Farewell, Vertrag." Those words sealed his fate, and Kreuz knew, it was the end for him when that single slip allowed for Ayanami's vise-like grip to clamp down on his neck, deceptively strong digits digging into bare flesh. It was an endless abyss that enveloped him, littered with old bones and dried red, drowning out the cry of a doomed Ghost soon to be devoured by Verloren.

The blade met no resistance as it tore through flesh, and after that, the only thing Vertrag knew was darkness.

**2: TBC**

**A/N**: Writing this was painful, somewhat, especially with Yukikaze's death. I took small liberties with the entire issue of when Ayanami remembered that he was actually Verloren, and the Raggs invasion, the former because it was never stated, the latter because they never really did mention if the Raggs king did put up a fight, and the manga made it look like an execution. Also, a song feature for this chapter: Breaking Benjamin's "Dance With the Devil", dedicated to the Vertrag-Verloren skirmish.

The phrase 'As long as I am within thee, my heart will always be with thee', chapter 37 of the Barsburg Bible, also quoted by Frau in the manga.


	3. Fleeting Normalcy

**Title**: The Day Night Fell  
**Fandom**: 07-Ghost  
**Pairing(s)**: Ayanami and Yukikaze, Hyuuga and Ayanami  
**Chapter**: 3/?  
**Warning**: Character (canonical) death, use of medication, self-hurt, angst, dark-fic. Pre-post Raggs War. SPOILERS FOR EVENTS OF THE BEIGLEITER ONE-SHOT AND MANGA.

**Synopsis**: He starts to slip and slide, even though he tells himself he feels no pain.

**3:**  
There had been no memorial, no quiet remembrances for the dedicated Beigleiter who had given his life in exchange for his superior's. Nothing at all. Yukikaze had become a passing memory drowned beneath rust red stains on an ivory palace, another faceless name in the growing list of casualties.

Another casualty of war.

It didn't take long before the rumors started to spread, whispered amongst the soldiers passing each other on now-empty streets, hushed murmurs and furtive glances at the silver-haired man who strode amongst them; the man who appeared entirely unmoved by his Beigleiter's death, who did not seem to care that Yukikaze had given his life in the line of duty.

Hyuuga leaned against the door of the office, watching in silence as the man at the desk continued his work with an almost mechanical precision.

There was nothing on Ayanami's face that belied any emotions he felt, if he felt any at all.

That man would never say anything. He had been seated with an unnatural calm in the office for the past few days, pen scratching quietly over paper, violet eyes never once revealing anything.

It had seemed almost inhuman, the detachment to mortality that Ayanami had exhibited after Kreuz's execution. He hadn't even cast a backwards glance at his now-deceased Beigleiter, striding off through the castle gates with a calm order on the tip of his tongue.

Hyuuga let out a soft sigh that was too much unlike him, stepping into the room and all but flopping down at a desk beside Ayanami's, his katanas' leaning against the empty desk, propping his elbows against the cold metal and unabashedly staring at his superior. But his actions drew no reaction from the Colonel; not that Hyuuga expected the man to even react in the first place, Ayanami had almost never responded to his inane antics, even if it included the most ridiculous of actions.

The elegant flick of his wrist that left words printed on ebony against the paper was almost hypnotizing.

"How long are you going to laze there, Hyuuga?"

It seemed hours later that Ayanami's voice broke the heavy blanket of silence that had started to settle over them. The swordsman merely cocked his head, stretching like a lazy cat that had just woken from a nap, but the look in those shaded crimson eyes was alert, almost on edge.

There had been no hint of any emotion in that man's voice, and even though Hyuuga had long since gotten used to the lack of anger at the words directed at him, there was something deeper missing, a piece of the puzzle lost and beyond grasp.

"But Aya-tan, there's nothing else for us to do." There was a rustle as another wrapper joined the pile that had built up on the desk, a cherry red sphere slipping past pale lips as Hyuuga indulged in another lollipop that had appeared out of nowhere.

The glare he had been waiting for never came.

Instead, Ayanami had returned wordlessly to the pile of reports in front of him.

Something was definitely not right. Crimson eyes peered over the top of sunglasses, as if staring at the Colonel swamped by paperwork would give him an answer to his superior's actions, or lack thereof.

Hyuuga could have continued his observation for hours, but the flustered thuds of booted feet approaching the office made the swordsman look up, reaching for his weapons instinctively. Every moment they were in former Raggs territory demanded that their senses be on alert every single waking minute.

The knock at the door gave Ayanami a reason to pause in his work, looking up to see a cadet that seemed a little too young to be embroiled in a war, a little too green around the edges, clutching a folder to a thin chest. Even the sword hanging at his side seemed a little too unwieldy for the boy's small frame.

"Yes?" Hyuuga glanced over to the Colonel who had finally spoken at long last, violet eyes half-hidden behind the silver hair that had fallen over his eyes. It was as if watching a predator come out of slumber to stalk unwitting prey, and Hyuuga had not seen that hungry expression ever since the day Raggs had fallen.

"Field-Marshal Miroku has requested to see both you and Captain Hyuuga, sir."

The boy sounded a little more confident than he looked, even though the man he was addressing carried darkness in his blood and was feared by almost everyone else in the military. It made Hyuuga wonder if he even knew the identity of the man who sat there, as cold as the darkest winter day and dangerous as the deadliest storm.

Ayanami rose to his feet, and imposing shadow of ebony painted by his lean form made even the cadet step back involuntarily. So the boy did know, and Hyuuga finally saw the uncertainty mirrored in pale blue eyes.

"Very well."

He was a creature of power and pride, contained within ceremonial trappings of human flesh and military requirement, silver hair obscuring predator's eyes as he strode from the office without so much of a backwards glance. It spoke of the silent expectation of Hyuuga to know what was required of him, without any words to direct his actions, trusting the man to execute the duties expected of a person bearing his rank.

And Hyuuga did, rising to his feet to follow suit, returning his katanas to their customary position on his hip, offering a cheeky grin to the cadet as he followed Ayanami with almost lazy steps.

A quick glance to the Colonel who strode before him made him stop and nearly stare at the black-clad figure, peering over dark glasses that had become slightly askew on the bridge of his nose. That rigid back that looked so proud and aloof had all too suddenly seemed so sad and alone.

Hyuuga pushed the dark glasses a little further up on his nose, tearing his gaze away Ayanami's form. It wasn't his place to pry beneath the ice cold facade that Ayanami chose to surround himself with, but he would remain at that man's side. For now, he would only watch, for he knew, Ayanami would simply push anyone who made an attempt to get close away.

He would be there, Hyuuga decided, following Ayanami as the man strode into the office where Miroku waited.

"Ah, Ayanami-kun." The figure clad in uniform black and gold turned from the small window he had been standing in-front of.

Field-Marshal Miroku certainly looked a little more worn down from the last time Ayanami had seen him, a ragged, almost ugly half-healed scar with marring features that would naturally have seem rugged and handsome.

War certainly took its toll on everyone, leaving wounds both where the eyes could and could not see.

The silver-haired Colonel raised a hand in salute, and so did the Captain standing just a way off behind him. Miroku nodded slightly in acknowledgment; war had changed some things, but not others. Ayanami was as polite as always, he always had been ever since his cadet days.

"Miroku-sama."

"I must congratulate you, the both of you, on your impending promotions." That man certainly did not beat around the bush. "Ayanami-kun, the board has rather unanimously agreed that in light of your recent achievements in the war, the currently vacant seat of Chief of Staff that everyone has been vying for will be yours."

Ayanami merely nodded, deciding against vocalizing any opinion he might have had. He knew, without either of them having to say, that upon the fleet's return to Imperial territory, there would be much pomp and fanfare, something he detested, but it was so like humans who had never been embroiled in a war to consider the seizing of new ground as a victory to be celebrated. No-one truly remembered the lost soldiers whose blood had painted the ground red, men who gave their lives in duty, no-one but the family remembered them and mourned their loss.

Disposable, toy soldiers.

Crimson eyes cast a quick glance over at that rigid, stiff back, silently observing the knotted tension where no-one else would have noticed beneath his crisp uniform. There was something that Ayanami was not saying, and Hyuuga knew what it was. After every skirmish, after every victory, it had not changed. It never would.

But that man had not mourned either.

Fingers callused from the constant use of a sword picked up the lone file on the desk as the Field-Marshal continued.

"The Emperor has requested," that term was a joke, used more for diplomatic politeness than an actual request, as whatever the Emperor requested he would undoubtedly get, "that the first fleet return to the Empire as soon as possible."

"Very well."

The expression on the Colonel's cold, carved features had not changed one bit.

There was no need for extraneous courtesies or meaningless small talk between the two men whose agendas belonged solely to them and them alone, not especially in a place where the walls had ears. Miroku held out the folder to Ayanami; the man took it wordlessly, answering with an almost curt salute.

"I shall take my leave then."

He had turned on his heel, striding towards the doorway, and Hyuuga too, had turned to follow suit, that is, until the swordsman felt a weight on his shoulder, a battle-hardened grip that made him stop in his tracks. A hand came to rest on his katanas almost instinctively as he turned, eyes shielded behind tinted black meeting the Field-Marshal's iron gaze.

Miroku might not have been able to see the questioning look hidden behind those dark glasses, but he trusted that the swordsman who had remained at Ayanami's side after _that_ incident would listen.

"Take care of Ayanami-kun, Captain."

Hyuuga's lips curled into a wide smile, almost reminiscent of a Cheshire cat. In that moment, the normally composed Field-Marshal actually wondered if the Warsfeil under Ayanami's command would actually listen to his words.

There was no reply whatsoever as gloved fingers made an effort at a salute, one that was nowhere as formal as his superior's, a casual ripple of lean muscle under the uniform as Hyuuga slipped out of the almost-iron grip on his shoulder.

Hyuuga merely waved slightly as he ducked out of sight, intent on following his superior.

Crimson eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

Even without Miroku saying, Hyuuga knew what he needed to do.

* * *

He didn't know when he had started having those nightmares, ghastly visions of red and white and death littering at the floor under his feet, twisted shadows dancing around him and disembodied voices echoing in his head.

It was the same over and over, and every time Ayanami would jerk awake, tangled in the sheets around him, his heart pounding almost painfully in his chest, staring at trembling hands that seemed to be dyed an endless crimson, a name he had not whispered in days dangling at the edge of his lips.

A hand pressed against still-tired violet, as if that could shield him from the lingering memories that lurked behind closed eyelids. There were the fading hints of veiled exhaustion and restless demons that remained at the edge of those eyes, a world-weary gaze that he only allowed himself to show when he was absolutely alone.

A soft rattle of tablets jarred from inertia was the only sound in the darkened room.

Ayanami had started to lose track of the amount of time he spent at that mahogany desk, hours that simply ticked by endlessly, drowned under lines and lines of ink on paper. He loathed the nightmares that plagued him; the lack of control over the horror he was forced to relive night after night, where even his waking moments held no respite.

Where sleeping tablets and painkillers could not help, the exhaustion drove those painful demons from him, albeit temporarily.

One by one, faces that had seemed so arrogant and condescending faded into an endless grey, becoming yet another one of the nameless officers in black and gold who strode past him in the hallways, some new rumor about the distant and frigid newly-promoted Chief of Staff whispered in hushed voices where they foolishly thought he could not hear.

It had not come as a surprise to him, when all he saw was a lifeless sea of faceless effigies decked in the crisp uniform of the Barsburg military the day the Imperial Army officially hosted a 'celebration' of sorts to commemorate their victory over the fallen Raggs Kingdom. The lights of the chamber seemed almost too harsh to the man seasoned to the blinding white glare of midday snow, but Ayanami stayed for ceremony's sake.

How fast time must have flown.

He heard the questions, false concern as obvious as day in their voices, insincere smiles and handshakes. Under the detached front, Ayanami listened to the meaningless blabbering by men who were almost twice his age with barely even half the mind to make up for their bold talk, a glass of pale celebratory champagne in his gloved fingers.

The spell of numbness was broken by a light touch at his shoulder, a touch that was all too familiar to him – in that moment, the memories of that broken body amongst the sea of red slipped away – and the Chief of Staff turned.

Perhaps it had been a dream, a wish impossible even to those disembodied murmurs of creatures he now knew to be Kor, flitting around him like anxious pets, eager to please.

It was dark hair and a smile that was almost mischievous that greeted him, and the words that had silently danced to the edge of his lips faltered in their steps.

"Hyuuga."

The grin on Hyuuga's face widened even more.

"Aya-tan seems to be enjoying himself." An casual arm looped around his shoulders, but the silver-haired man shrugged it off, choosing against replying the swordsman. Those actions would have normally infuriated any other staff officer, but Ayanami had long since gotten used to the strange antics of his subordinate to even bother reprimanding him for it.

It was Yukikaze who had always responded with a silent glare of rebuff.

The thought of his name made the Chief of Staff pause, but he roughly pushed that thought aside. This was no time to be reminiscing, and there would be no weakness shown to the hungry wolves around him.

Behind him, crimson eyes peered over the dark glasses that shielded them, making a study of the tension in that rigid back.

Hyuuga did not need to ask, to know that there was something deeper beyond the cold facade Ayanami presented, he had noticed the silent distractions in those violet eyes. Everyone had their demons, and even though that man tried to deny them, they lurked there where he chose to ignore.

It was not his place to say anything, instead, he watched, observing like a silent ghost amongst the mingling crowd.

"Ah, if it isn't Ayanami-kun."

Both Ayanami and Hyuuga turned to the sound of that voice, the former responding with a curt salute, the latter with a glare masked by his sunglasses. General Oak, no, that man was now an Admiral, promoted to a position of higher standing due to his efforts in the war, had made his way through the crowd to greet the Chief of Staff.

"To what do we have the honor of your presence?"

That man was a downright fox, sly and cunning, it was information that Ayanami was well aware of. It did not help that the Admiral often looked the part, not that anyone would ever mention it openly.

Instead, the Chief of Staff smiled – it seemed almost too polite – nodding in acknowledgment to the Admiral's words.

"Ceremony, if I must say. It would be a shame to allow a night as fine as this to slip away." His words were utterly devoid of any emotion, overly formal and detached. Ayanami was in no mood for small talk, but for courtesy's sake, allowed the smile on his face to remain where it was.

"I heard about your Beigleiter."

The lack of expression on Ayanami's face gave nothing away, not even the sudden feeling of a crushing pressure that suddenly gripped his chest. Suddenly, the dull buzz of men and women making small talk dwindled down to an almost choking silence that pressed down on all sides.

Hyuuga tensed slightly, knowing that Ayanami's silence ever since that day surely meant something. None of the staff, not even Miroku, not even himself, had brought up any mention of it, but for the Admiral to have done so...

The Admiral took Ayanami's silence as a hint to continue.

"As you know, the current class of cadets in the Academy graduate within the week. I've heard word that there are many promising talents amongst them, and I'm sure there will be a replacement of suitable caliber assigned to you soon."

That detached facade Ayanami presented to the rest of the world did not change.

It was as if the entire world hinged on one man's response.

"Thank you for the information, Admiral." Gloved fingers reached up, tipping the uniform cap that rested on his head, the smile on his face never once wavering; instead, it seemed as if it had become much more predatory. "I look forward to when the cadets are put through their graduation exam."

Those words seemed almost rehearsed, giving absolutely nothing of his thoughts away.

Admiral Oak paused, almost as if considering to push the subject matter a little further, but the appearance of Miroku drew his attention away. In any case, the thunderous applause that started to echo in the hall would have drowned his words out, and the Admiral was not one to be disrespectful by interrupting Miroku's speech.

"Excuse me." Courtesy dictated a quick, almost casual salute as Ayanami withdrew, stepping fluidly through the crowd.

Hyuuga let the hand that had wandered to his katanas drop, unsure of why he had reached for them in the first place, finally detaching himself from the wall that he had all but glued himself to. The curious crowd that had inadvertently gathered around Ayanami and Admiral Oak had started their slow dispersal, now that there were other things that drew their attention.

A quick glance around located the silver-haired man making his way towards the exit, having excused himself from the remainder of the night's activities.

How odd.

Gloved fingers pushed the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose a little higher, shielding his eyes from anyone else within the hall; not that they would pay attention to a Warsfeil that was feared by the regular military, deftly making his way through the crowd after his superior.

Ayanami was halfway out of the hall when Hyuuga caught up to him. His hand reached out, fingers curling around the man's slender wrist, stopping him in his tracks behind the shadow of those grand gold and rosewood doors.

Violet met a shaded crimson, but there was an emptiness in those cold lavender eyes that had never been there before, almost as if a void had opened in the man's soul.

"If you want to talk, I'm here." Hyuuga didn't know what had possessed him to say those words to the man who was once another cadet in the same class as him, but he had known that there was something weighing heavily on those tense shoulders.

"Perhaps." The reply was unexpected, leaving Hyuuga to stare at Ayanami's retreating back as the man strode down the corridor.

Ayanami would never say anything, but Hyuuga knew what he had seen.

Something had broken in those pale lavender eyes.

**3: TBC**

**A/N: **There's not much to say in terms of author notes in this chapter, really. This is really just the normalcy before everything goes to hell, that's all I can say. For those who are wondering, I'm using the Beigleiter time-line, where Hyuuga mentions that they're ex-classmates, hence the 'once another cadet in the same class'.


	4. The End of the Dream

**Title**: The Day Night Fell  
**Fandom**: 07-Ghost  
**Pairing(s)**: Ayanami and Yukikaze, Hyuuga and Ayanami  
**Chapter**: 4/?  
**Warning**: Character (canonical) death, use of medication, self-hurt, angst, dark-fic. Pre-post Raggs War. SPOILERS FOR EVENTS OF THE BEIGLEITER ONE-SHOT AND MANGA.

**Synopsis**: And so the butterfly dreams, but even thus its dream of denial will end some day.

**4: **

It felt like an invisible blade stabbing through flesh and scraping bone, and even though there was no open wound on pale skin, there was pain reverberating through his body. It was the same every time he woke from the visions of death that plagued him every single night, the crushing pressure he had first felt that day building within his chest.

Two tablets later, and Ayanami was striding through the empty hallways, ignoring the dull throb he felt at the back of his head.

It had almost become a habit for him to rise long before the sun did, a solitary shadow in the well-lit corridors of Hohnburg Fortress, with only the sound of soft scratches of a pen against crisp paper to keep him company in the empty office. Silence had become a welcome companion where mere footfalls made him glance up, as if anticipating a familiar figure clad in black and gold who would never step through those doors.

The man's changing habit had not gone unnoticed; there were a few who simply brushed it off as dedication to his work, but Hyuuga knew better than that. He had been watching Ayanami those past few days after that night, watching as the man allowed himself to slip deeper and deeper into his work, alienating everything else but his work.

Those dark circles under Ayanami's tired eyes had long since been noticed by the alert swordsman who kept him company through some of the longest hours, the silent shadow who remained at his side.

"Isn't it a bit too early, Aya-tan?" Hyuuga stifled a yawn, strolling into the office almost languidly. It wasn't that he felt tired; he had been quietly rising a little earlier for the past few days to watch the Chief of Staff, having made up his mind to observe the man.

The pair of violet eyes that finally looked up to meet his gaze gave nothing away.

Hyuuga waited for a glare that never came.

"What is it this time, Hyuuga?" The man sitting there had not once paused in his work. He had become almost mechanical in his actions, rationalizing every word and emotion. It made the swordsman wonder as he walked over, leaning against the edge of the desk, crimson eyes peering over his shades almost curiously at the paperwork stacked by the files on the mahogany surface.

Referrals, reassignments, and new recruits.

"You aren't sleeping properly again, are you?"

Gloved fingers picked up a sheaf of loose papers not bound into a file, flipping through the sheets almost casually, almost as if attempting to read the neat rows of black text. Not that he would ever want to voluntarily go near those forms, but it seemed that the only way he could get his commanding officer to say more than a monosyllabic grunt was to withhold as much of the paperwork from him as possible.

Hyuuga glanced up from the mock-reading of the papers he held to meet a glare he was all too familiar with, one he had not seen in weeks. The grin on his face widened slightly, masking the relief he felt at the sight of that annoyed look in Ayanami's violet eyes.

"Stop being ridiculous." Another signature, another elegant scrawl of notations under printed text, another soft rustle of paper being filed and set aside in their respective piles, waiting for an assistant who was no longer there to retrieve and submit them.

"But Aya-tan, if you keep overworking, all of your hair will turn white!" The sheer ridiculousness of his almost lighthearted statement earned Hyuuga a second glare, and it only made the grin on his face widen even more.

"Mhn."

Hyuuga found the papers he had been holding bare moments ago almost snatched out of his hands by his commanding officer and set down on the table, turning to Ayanami only to find himself face-to-face with a predator's unflinching glare.

His hands rose in mock-defeat, the grin never once leaving his face.

"Aya-tan looks so scary with that glare." It was teasing, the way his words always had been.

The only answer he got this time was an almost halfhearted monosyllabic hum, as Ayanami returned his attention to his paperwork once more.

It might only have been temporary, but for a moment there was a semblance of normalcy in those small actions.

* * *

They say that before every storm came an eerie calm to which made everyone exposed to it lower their guard. But it wasn't the same with Hyuuga; despite the awkward normalcy that had they had both seemed to settle back into, there was still something that did not seem to fit into the mold they had carved out a long time ago.

Hyuuga could still see a hint of the haunted shadows that still lurked in those endless, now frigid violet depths, even though Ayanami often masked it beneath that cold gaze and a facade of indifference.

Two months, and yet that man kept those demons locked away where no-one else could see.

He had pretended not to notice the stacks of piling files on Ayanami's desk, had kept that almost fragile facade of normalcy even as he watched the man sitting all by himself at the desk busying himself without any rest.

This wouldn't do.

"Aya-tan, shouldn't you rest? It's getting late." His hand came to rest on a shoulder knotted tight with tension, squeezing slightly in a bid to get the man to relax just a little.

Those sunglasses slid a little lower on his nose, their owner peering over them as he frequently always.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ayanami had looked up with a glare that held no malice or threat, an icy facade peppered with miniscule cracks of fatigue, only to find himself staring into his subordinate's too-crimson eyes. All too suddenly he saw that day again, that same old nightmare that sank its claws into him every time he dared believe he had finally lost the monsters that haunted him.

"Making sure you don't overwork, that's what." His grip was firm, making it clear that Hyuuga would not back down from this.

They were both dancing on a razor-blade edge of a fall that went down a lot further than they could see.

"Stop it."

That connection that had momentarily been established between red and violet had been torn away, but he could still almost feel the concerned gaze on him, boring against the back of his skull. It was a sensation that felt so oddly familiar but yet out of place, something that only _he_ had done in a past that seemed – how long had it been, he had lost track completely – just a little too far gone by.

Ayanami had seen, just in that moment, another face, a familiar smile and clear glasses, that same, disapproving gaze every time he pushed himself too hard.

He shook his head, pushing the vision out of his mind.

Hyuuga's eyes narrowed slightly, contemplating if the stubborn man sitting there deserved a glare to the back of the head or if he should simply let the matter drop. Ayanami had always been bull-headed about certain issues, and this apparently, had become one of them.

The grip on Ayanami's shoulder loosened just the slightest, and in the slight lull of silence, the silver-haired man had risen to his feet, shrugging off Hyuuga's grip completely.

It took a mere moment for an already awkward balance to be tilted just a little further.

The dark-haired swordsman was the only one left standing in an office too empty and cold, watching as a lone, solitary figure strode past him and out into a corridor devoid of human life.

"Aya-tan's being stupid." Hyuuga allowed a single scowl to show on his face, before striding out of the office. There was something he needed to do tonight.

* * *

The locks that sealed off access to doors concealing military secrets in Hohnburg Fortress had been designed to stop intruders from the outside, but obviously the designers had entirely failed to consider the possibility that someone from the inside would try to slip past the intricate system that had been put in place.

Even less so if the one attempting to gain access to his commanding officer's quarters was one of the feared Black Hawks.

Hyuuga made a frustrated growl at the burnished, silver surface that seemed to be almost laughing at his attempts to undo a supposedly simple lock. It would be so much easier to simply destroy the lock and probably the door alongside it, but he did not want to have to answer to a fuming Chief of Staff the exact and precise reason behind the destruction of either door or lock.

He was about five seconds away from throwing caution to the wind when the lock finally gave with an almost unwilling beep, and the swordsman grinned widely.

Finally.

The room that lay behind the door was lit by a soft, orange glow of a single lamp apparently forgotten as Hyuuga stepped in, pausing in his tracks to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. He would have to be careful not give away his presence in the room; there was no telling if Ayanami was still awake, or if he was in the rooms at all.

A quick glance around revealed a desk stacked neatly with one too many files, a familiar uniform draped over the back of the chair, and a door left slightly ajar.

A small act of carelessness, so unlike the ever-wary Chief of Staff.

Hyuuga padded over to the door, his footfalls silent, giving none of his movements away. So far, so good. Gingerly, gloved fingers pushed lightly against it, cautiously testing to see if the hinges would creak.

The door swung open slowly without protest, allowing a sliver of illumination into the darkness of the room within.

It soon became apparent to him that the person residing within those four walls was not only at home, but was also fast asleep, an unmoving form of pale ivory and silver and closed violet.

He slipped in, uniform blending amongst the shadows of the room, eying the man nestled almost peacefully in the midst of tangled cream warily. With Ayanami, things often ran deeper than the eye could see, and this too, could easily be one of them.

Ayanami looked completely different in slumber, almost relaxed without any tension in his features. But there was no mistaking the lines of exhaustion that remained etched on his face, echoes of old nightmares that he couldn't seem to shrug off, chains that bound him all too tightly and drained too much of the man's energy.

Not everyone could run from their demons.

It was strange that the silver-haired man lying there asleep hadn't already awoken; the Black Hawks frequently slept with one hand on their swords and their senses always alert to their surroundings, something honed from years and years of military training, something that had eventually become a part of them.

Hyuuga stepped a little closer, circling warily, a fluid, cat-like grace in his movements, contemplating his options.

Then he caught sight of it, having almost missed it in the darkness of the room, the clear bottle lying abandoned on the small bedside table.

"Aya-tan's getting careless."

His words were a sing-song whisper, a ghost of a grin flitting across his features as he picked up the bottle, letting the cool plastic roll across gloved fingers.

Hyuuga stopped, crimson peering over his sunglasses at the seemingly innocent white tablets that rattled within the bottle, as if indignant at their scrutiny. These couldn't possibly be what he thought they were, could they? He knew that his superior had a history of ingesting food supplement tablets in place of proper food – it was a bad habit that had carried over from Ayanami's cadet days – but these tablets seemed different from the usual.

The realization hit him like a brick wall.

Ayanami's long nights, the lingering nightmares in his eyes and the exhaustion in his features, the well-masked pain in those depth-less violet eyes he would never say anything about. The moments where Hyuuga had seen him pressing a gloved hand against closed eyes, the discretion in his movements as lithe fingers shifted something out of view and the soft click of a drawer sliding shut.

He glanced at the bottle in his hand, studying the plain, white tablets.

"So this is what it's all about, Aya-tan?"

There would be no reply from the man lying dead asleep to the rest of the world.

Slender fingers gripped the bottle just a little harder, his dark glasses hiding the swirl of emotions that had swelled up. Hyuuga was angry, almost to the point of being furious, both at Ayanami and himself; the former for being so _ridiculously_ proud that he simply wouldn't utter a word, and the latter for completely not noticing the pain his superior had been in.

Hyuuga would have slammed it down on the desk in his anger, but instead, he allowed the small bottle tight within his grasp to drop onto the table with a rattle, as if the tablets inside were a little more than miffed at their treatment.

The sigh that escaped his lips sounded all too loud in the silent room.

He couldn't do anything else; but instead contented himself settling into a comfortable position, seated all too calmly on the cold tiles at the foot of the bed, katanas leaning against his shoulder.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, and even before the swordsman was aware, the first vestiges of daylight peeked in through almost closed curtains, briefly illuminating where he had been seated. Crimson snapped open, but the shadows continued to keep his lean form concealed, and he too, did not move.

A low groan issued from the pile of tangled sheets behind him, the bed creaking as its occupant stirred to wakefulness, alertness returning to sleep-glazed violet eyes within moments.

Someone else.

An intruder.

Ayanami bolted upright, destructive magic flaring to life around his clenched fist.

The minute the threatening glow illuminated the room, Hyuuga decided, now would be an exceedingly good time to move, and he did just that, launching himself with a scramble to his feet. Instinct demanded that he reach for his katanas, but Hyuuga quashed the notion the minute it reared its head. Instead, the crimson-eyed man drew up a barrier around himself quickly, masking a flinch as the deadly zaiphon barreled towards him without stopping.

Maybe this had not been a good idea.

The words slammed into his invisible shield, the impact of it nearly sending him stumbling back a few paces. A growl slipped from his throat, glaring past outstretched hands at the man who had seized his sword, and–

Oh dear.

It was training and instinct once again, that brought the cold steel blade up, the clang of metal against metal ringing through the empty room.

For a man who had just woken from slumber mere moments ago, Ayanami could be a rather terrifying opponent.

"Aya-tan, this is a little awkward."

The grin on Hyuuga's face was a little strained, keeping his weight pressed behind the blade gripped too tightly in his hand. It was obvious that he wasn't backing down, and the man standing almost too close definitely would not step back at all, angry violet boring into crimson.

Then the pressure against Hyuuga's katana suddenly lessened as the silver-haired man swiftly stepped back, his sword arm falling back to his side. The anger in those now clear lavender had not faded one bit, if anything, they looked even more annoyed.

Ayanami had not sheathed his sword; that certainly was not a good sign.

"What do you think you're doing?" Callused fingers returned the blade to the sheath at his side, never once breaking the staring contest between them.

Finally, the sword clutched tightly within Ayanami's grip slid silently back into the confines of black leather. The slight action made the grin on Hyuuga's face widen just the slightest, lifting a gloved hand to run through his already messy hair.

"Well..." A somewhat sheepish grin.

"Why are you here?" He found himself cut off before any attempt at explanation could be made. For a moment, it felt as if a cat had sunk its claws into his tongue, but a sweeping gaze across the room returned his attention to the small bottle abandoned on the desk.

The anger that had simmered down over the hours Hyuuga had spent watching Ayanami enshrouded in slumber bubbled up violently, a silent eruption of anger reflected only in shaded crimson. Hyuuga strode over to the desk, standing there for a moment facing away from Ayanami, knowing that a pair of angry violet was boring directly into his back. He let out a breath, mentally attempting to calm the storm that had stirred to life at the sight of _that _bottle.

It made a rattling protest as the swordsman picked it up again.

"Why are you taking these?"

A flick of his wrist sent the bottle flying at his violet-eyed superior, pinning the man with a glare. There was nothing but anger and accusations in those crimson eyes, even the dark glasses Hyuuga wore would not mask those emotions.

He watched with a strange sense of detachment as Ayanami caught hold of the bottle midair, watched as the expression on the Chief of Staff's face changed just the slightest when he realized what it was that Hyuuga had thrown at him, watched as hardened violet looked up to meet his accusing gaze without flinching.

It soon became clear to Hyuuga that Ayanami would not be explaining the warped reasons behind the bottle of medication he had found on the desk. Somehow – Hyuuga mentally berated himself – he should have known this would happen. It was so like him, he would only willingly talk about certain matters that held his interest and entirely omit others, all at his own choosing.

A hand curled into a fist, the swordsman struggling to rein in his anger.

"You're a complete idiot." Those words slipped out before he could stop them. No teasing nicknames, no joking words. "A ridiculously stupid fool, at that!" His voice had risen into a barely repressed shout, emotions running high in his words.

Being emotionally affected by events was something Hyuuga had refused to allow himself to be. Arterial red glared into frigid lavender almost challengingly, daring the silver-haired man in front of him to do or even say something, but Ayanami remained far too calm, never once say anything.

His eyes were an endless abyss of violet ice, cold and unreadable.

Seconds ticked past, neither of them entirely sure of how much time they had spent glaring at one another.

A multitude of images flashed through Ayanami's mind, an all too familiar picture painted against the haze of memory at the front of his thoughts. A hand pressed against his forehead, pushing stray strands of silver out of his line of sight, masking the sudden spike of dull, almost blunt pain that stabbed through the back of his head, a reminder of old nightmares.

Briefly, he remembered the sea of crimson and ivory, and his arm suddenly hurt, wrist and fingers aching to hold a weapon he no longer had access to.

"Get out." The words sounded flat, forced through gritted teeth. For the first time in a long while, that frozen facade of control cracked just the slightest.

Hyuuga didn't move a muscle, resolutely standing his ground against a storm threatening to unleash its fury on a single point: him. Instead, he met those violet eyes with a defiant glare, making it clear that he would not step back, not since he had gotten so far.

"Not until you explain everything."

It soon became clear that Ayanami would not be answering any questions, and Hyuuga seized the moment to press his point. That man needed to stop trying to kill himself with his work and those thrice damned pills; it didn't matter if he was a goddamn genius or not, his body would simply give out if he continued.

"Do you think this is what Yukikaze would have wanted? You, in this state?"

Anger flared up in those frozen lavender. The swordsman quickly found himself on the end of a razor-sharp glare once more, and it took quite some self-control not to flinch. He had been on the receiving end of those glares before, but never one fueled so intensely with power and pure, unchecked rage.

"Get out. Now." It was malice that tinged his voice, an unvoiced threat that had never been there before.

"No." His tone mirrored Ayanami's earlier tone, flat and unyielding. "Stop pushing other people's concern away, Aya-tan."

"This is none of your concern." The silver-haired man turned away, ignoring the crimson eyes boring against his back. He strode over to the wardrobe, pulling open oak doors and reaching for one of the crisp, white shirts inside. A simple distraction, an all too clear indication that the conversation at hand was over.

Hyuuga refused to give up so easily, even though Ayanami had already turned his back to him, making it obvious that he entirely did not wish to discuss this rather delicate topic any further.

"Is he the only one you'll bother listening to?"

The tension in the small room had become awkwardly heavy, neither of the predators in that small cage prepared to back down.

Something would have to give in, eventually.

"Stop bringing him into this conversation." There was a barely-there tremor in that voice heavily laced with anger and frustration, the tiniest hint of exhaustion and suppressed pain, the cracks that were already starting to show under the constant strain.

"Stop avoiding the question, Aya-tan."

"Get out, Hyuuga." Hollow, and almost tired. Resigned. The anger and malice that had bubbled up had simmered down to a dull ache in his chest, the look in violet eyes giving away the pain he tried so hard to hide.

A hand came to rest against a shoulder knotted tight with tension.

"Only if you'll stop running."

He should have anticipated it, the low growl that issued from Ayanami's throat, muscles rippling as he easily shrugged off Hyuuga's concerned hand, the same way he had shrugged off his concern earlier.

That man with frigid lavender eyes and dusty silver-grey hair had always been so proud. He had always rejected anyone who tried to reach out to him, had pushed away everyone because his pride had never allowed for anyone to attempt to hold him up. That pride would kill him some day – Hyuuga mused quietly as he studied the rigid back that faced him, noticing the barely there tremors that ran through taut muscles – if it hadn't already started.

The wardrobe door shut with a resolute slam, as if the sound would end the conversation Ayanami no longer wished to have. It was his silent answer to the swordsman who stood behind him, for words seemed to have finally deserted him in his exhaustion.

Perhaps he had underestimated Hyuuga's persistence.

Before Ayanami realized, he had been pinned with his back pressed uncomfortably against cold metal handles and hard oak doors, glaring pointedly at dark glasses that hid his subordinate's unfathomable crimson gaze, and he knew, he wouldn't be prying any repartee from Hyuuga until all of the swordsman's questions had all been answered.

Those were answers that Ayanami resolutely refused to answer, at any cost.

Those were answers that he simply did not want to hear vocalized.

"Stand down, Hyuuga." There was nothing but authority in his voice, a familiar ring of ice cold frigidness tinged with the deadly power that he had always carried in his blood. "This is an order."

A low growl slipped from Hyuuga's throat. "I'm in no mood to listen to your damn orders."

The sunglasses which had always perched on the swordsman's nose had finally slipped askew, revealing a pair of steely blood red eyes – the eyes of a cold, merciless killer – that so-often hid behind those dark barriers. The Cheshire-cat smile that often fixed itself upon his face had vanished as well, warping a once-cheerful visage into a humorless one.

Slender fingers reached up, fingers that belied the strength he didn't seem to have, pushing past Hyuuga determinedly.

Not so easy.

Hyuuga's hand shot out, callused digits curling around his superior's wrist in a vice-like grip, a wrist that seemed all too slender, too fragile for a man who held so much power running where no-one else could see, blood-red entwined with ebony black, hidden under pale ivory. He could feel it, that thready pulse – that man hadn't been sleeping well, and it was starting to show – that pounded in Ayanami's veins, small little signs that spoke volumes to him of his superior's deteriorating health.

"Let go." He twisted his wrist slightly, attempting to loosen and shake off the clamping digits that had firmly grasped his arm, but the grip Hyuuga had on his wrist did not budge an inch.

"No."

In that instant, all the tension in the room snapped with the force of a storm held back too long. The sword that had been leaning against the wardrobe seemed to almost materialize within Ayanami's hands, cold metal pressed threateningly against warm skin.

"Enough."

All too suddenly they were armed, dancing with cold steel gripped tightly in bare hands, the clash of metal against metal echoing in the enclosed box that held them. But something was different this time, Hyuuga had realized the moment he blocked his superior's blow. Ayanami had never been one to expose any weakness, the Major knew that all too well, but yet there was a sluggishness in his movements, almost as if lead weights were dragging his weary limbs down.

A quick glance showed the tiredness that had started to shine through cracks in the determined mask Ayanami had placed in those violet windows.

"Stop," a clang of metal on metal, "trying to," the crash of some stray object as Hyuuga stepped back to avoid another blow, "to kill yourself!"

An expert flick of his wrist sent Ayanami's sword spinning away with a loud clatter.

Hyuuga lowered his sword, eying the Chief of Staff standing before him, a portrait of a proud man worn down to the bone but still stubbornly refusing to accept defeat, his chest heaving from the exertions. Those once-fiery lavender had become glazed, burnt out from exhaustion and the strain of the burden he had chosen not to share, staring almost unseeingly at his subordinate.

It happened a little too fast.

Ayanami felt the meager remnants of his already drained strength suddenly desert him, the invisible weight that rested against tired shoulders finally pushing tired limbs past a limit they were not meant to sustain. If possible, he would not have wanted to reveal the extent of his exhaustion, not especially with Hyuuga around, but the brief, physical confrontation earlier had sapped away much more energy than he could afford to spare.

He had been careless.

The Chief of Staff's lean form suddenly stumbled, all the raw pain he had carefully hidden under layers of masks laid bare in that one, stray moment of weakness. Hyuuga's eyes widened in shock. Almost instinctively, his hands gripped Ayanami's shoulders, steadying his superior's too-exhausted body, keeping him from collapsing forward.

Glazed violet met concerned red, and the soft murmur that had slipped almost involuntarily from Ayanami's lips could be heard clearly in the silence that hung between them.

"Yukikaze..."

For the first time in months, Ayanami uttered that one name.

Hyuuga's smile was almost bitter. So in the end, even in death, _that_ man still lingered within Ayanami's thoughts.

"Yukikaze is dead, Aya-tan." They sounded almost gentle, deceptively tender, but even the lingering taste of candy and caramel apples on pale lips could not hide the underlying tinge of pained bitterness in his voice.

It was a painful reminder of what small remnant of humanity the detached existences known as Warsfeil had, to see such pride worn away, chipped away slowly by a burden he did not have to shoulder alone. A reminder that even with the darkness wrapped so tightly around them, their bodies were simply human and nothing more than that.

That man was silent.

This denial had gone on long enough. Hyuuga had seen enough of those stolen gazes, the quashed anticipation of perhaps seeing someone who no-longer existed. His grip tightened almost painfully on Ayanami's shoulders, but yet the silver-haired man did not flinch.

"He's gone, Aya-tan."

Ayanami simply remained the way he was, taciturn, reserved, almost stony. Carved ice and marble. Of course, Yukikaze was dead. He knew; he had seen the thin threads binding that man to life cut away right in-front of his eyes, had felt the life slip away and watched as the dark red crimson pool around his feet like a slow ebbing tide.

But the man in front of him, a figure with dark hair and dark glasses...

No.

Pale lips moved slightly.

"I know."

And at long last, the butterfly awoke from the endless dream.

**4: TBC**

**A/N:** The reference at the very end is the butterfly's dream. Chinese Idiom, and everything. I suppose you _could_ call it a hint to what might just happen in the next chapter, and what happened to Ayanami in this chapter. That aside, this is definitely the longest chapter I've put down for "The Day Night Fell".

I also made the decision to make the nature of the tablets ambiguous, because honestly, I couldn't make up my mind, for the life of me, whether to make it sleeping pills or painkillers. Well, it's up to the readers to decide so. Chapter didn't end with as much of a bang as I had originally wanted, but I'll find _some _way to slot that particular scene in. The one I've got in mind, that is.


	5. A Painted Sunrise

**Title**: The Day Night Fell  
**Fandom**: 07-Ghost  
**Pairing(s)**: (Implied) Ayanami and Yukikaze, Hyuuga and Ayanami  
**Chapter**: 5/5  
**Warnings**: Character (canonical) death, use of medication, implied (non-physical) self-hurt, angst. Pre-post Raggs War. SPOILERS FOR EVENTS OF THE BEIGLEITER ONE-SHOT AND MANGA.

**Synopsis**: He has his ghosts. He has that man with crimson eyes and ebony hair at his side, too.

**Epilogue: **

Ayanami's alert nature gave warning to the arm that was suddenly flung around his shoulders, the cheerful and now-familiar grin that materialized on the Major's face as the sunglasses-wearing swordsman casually draped an arm around shoulders knotted with a tension that never seemed to fade.

"Aya-taaaan~"

It merely made the violet-eyed Chief of Staff roll his eyes; he was all too prepared for the insistent whine that would inevitably accompany incidents like these. The pen in his grasp started its dance of ebony over ivory again, neatly scribbling words into existence, as its wielder simply _ignored_ the fact that one of his subordinates – a trusted friend, if he could use that term, but still a subordinate no less – grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and leaning against him of all things, intruding rather obviously into his personal space.

"What is it now, Hyuuga?"

Cold lavender never once lifted their gaze from the files on the desk.

Hyuuga's grin however, merely grew wider when his normally frigid superior did not immediately push him away with some biting rebuke.

Two years since.

The swordsman studied his superior's work, peering curiously over the man's shoulder at the perpetually neat desk stacked with files and loose sheets of paper filed with mechanical organization. He recognized the innocuous paperwork that sat innocently in the submission file – of course he did, Hyuuga had seen enough of those over twenty-four and a few months – and for a moment, wondered how the Chief of Staff would handle the application.

Two years, that was how long Ayanami had remained without another Beigleiter.

"Aya-tan looked so lonely, so I thought I'd cheer him up a bit."

Sometimes, Hyuuga mused, it was as if speaking to a person carved out of ice and cast in marble. But he had long since learned to read the well-masked changes in his expressions, tiny little quirks here and there, and more often than not that barely-raised eyebrow that spoke of the man's annoyance.

Like how the resolute set of Ayanami's pale lips meant that if the swordsman would have a rather intimate introduction to the whip the Chief of Staff carried at his hip, especially if Hyuuga made no attempt to remove the arm he had draped across his superior's shoulder.

It only drew a chuckle from Hyuuga as he straightened up, a hand still resting on that tense, rigid shoulder, a gentle anchor, almost as if the man seated there would suddenly up and vanish into thin air.

"Mhn."

That non-committal grunt was the only answer Hyuuga would get from the figure of living marble seated before him.

Somewhere along the line, they had slipped into this wordless familiarity, a routine they had grown used to over time. An initially awkward semblance of a bond that one of them had pushed for and the other allowed.

Ayanami rose to his feet, uncurling from the chair the same way a predator rose from sleep to stalk prey, and the weight he had allowed to remain on his shoulder slipped away. The man who stood beside him merely stepped back, the same old Cheshire-Cat grin still fixed firmly upon those features.

The same routine, every single time.

Crimson eyes peered over dark glasses at the single, remaining file on the desk, wordlessly understanding what he was expected to do. Of course, it was the same every time _those_ applications came, the same old response, the same old explanations, the same old protests which were silenced by a violet glare from beneath the brim of Ayanami's cap when they came knocking to attempt to pressure that man into acceptance.

"Are you still thinking about him, Aya-tan?"

A cold, almost frigid, violet gaze was the only answer the man with blood red eyes and tinted ebony glasses would receive. It made Hyuuga's lips turn up into an even bigger grin, picking up the file that his superior had deliberately left behind on the desk.

They had long since gone past needing words, especially when it came to this one rather delicate topic of the person who had left heavy chains of memories and an incomplete message behind in a rain of crimson and black and gold. The topic of _that_ person who, even after two years and counting, lingered on Ayanami's mind.

Of course he was.

Hyuuga lifted his gaze to the rigid back clad in crisp ebony, watching as the silver-haired man stopped before the pale, tinted glass windows of the almost empty office. The lingering touches of sadness and loneliness had finally faded to a barely-there shadow, a ghost of the burden tired shoulders had once tried to carry all by his lonesome.

Everyone had their ghosts. And until Ayanami let go of his, he would be there.

Casual strides carried the swordsman over to his superior officer's side, the file tucked under the crook of his arm.

It was the somewhat restrained, powerful grip on Ayanami's wrist that made the Chief of Staff pause in his thoughts; he recognized the almost careful grasp that had latched onto him. Of course he did, there was only one man in the entire Barsburg Empire who had such daring to initiate any physical contact with the cold violet star at the lead of the military's feared Black Hawks.

Ayanami didn't turn around. He didn't need to.

Instead, violet lifted to meet the pale reflection of the shielded arterial gaze and teasing grin of his subordinate, a dark-haired shadow of the man who stood a few inches taller than him, in the windows of their division's office. The grip on his wrist has slackened, and in that moment, the silver-haired man knew that it would be more than easy to simply turn, brush past Hyuuga and return to his desk, as if nothing of the sort had happened.

But neither of them moved.

It was silence broken by a soft whisper, words teasingly ghosting over the shell of his ear.

"I'll protect you, Aya-tan."

For once, the smile on Hyuuga's face seemed almost sincere.

The corner of Ayanami's pale lips curled into a smirk as the swordsman stepped back, offering a curt salute – it looked more like a mockery of one, rather than an actual presentation of respect – before striding towards the heavy rosewood door that closed them off from the rest of the Fortress, that single folder safely in his grasp.

"Perhaps."

**END**

**A/N: **

God that was both so easy and so hard at the same time. I lost count of the number of times I re-wrote that single scene just to make it _sound _ right and not some strange cliched moment that I've probably written a thousand other times in some other fic and then threw it into the recycle bin or something.

To be honest, this was... really written on an impulse with a half-formed plot when I first started it out. I ended up consulting Psychology and Medical students on this, because I didn't particularly know how people dealt with grief (read: normal people) so yeah.

That, and having a somewhat-soundtrack for the first few chapters actually helped. The driving force behind this entirely: Apocalyptica's "I Don't Care", and the multitude of people who _have_ helped along this whole crazy roller-coaster ride.


End file.
